Terminal: End
by Sunsorrow18
Summary: Ingo and Emmet are perfect together. One half and one half cannot add anything else and still be one whole. It would only taint them. White/Hilda tries to make ExpressShipping happen, and Emmet decides she needs to be stopped. Rated T for violence and homicide, but it's not especially graphic. Use discretion.


For a month now, Emmet had only been watching Ingo open the letters. Open them, and then throw them, crumpled, into the trash, rolling his eyes. Emmet had been curious, of course - of course! Who would send letters so persistently? - but he respected Ingo and his privacy, at least enough so to not pull one out of the trash can and read. After the month, his respect hadn't waned one bit, but his inquisitiveness about the matter had only inflated. He could tell Ingo was getting exasperated with them too, so... it was okay, right? Emmet's reasoning, perhaps, wasn't the most solid, but he was never one to be understood easily anyways.

... He could certainly tell why the notes made Ingo cringe sometimes. The 'i's were dotted with hearts, the introduction written out in bad German that had probably come from Google Translate. Behind the flamboyant, loopy signature of "Hilda Touko White" was an obnoxious line of Xs and Os. It was a love letter, from that _stupid_ girl who kept challenging them, over and over. As much as they both enjoyed getting challengers, she showed up three times a day, and was beaten within minutes. Emmet always refused to acknowledge her as anything other than "Helga" or "Beige" just to subtly express his distaste.

This was... unacceptable. Emmet would not allow this. The paper was crinkled back up in his tightly clenched hand as he glowered, still crouching next to the wastebasket like a creeper. No one else was allowed to _look_ at Ingo that way. Ingo belonged to Emmet, and Emmet to Ingo. Anyone trying to mess up that absolute balance had to be dealt with. It took him a while to think of a way to let the girl know she had to stop. Obviously, flattening her in battle wouldn't mean much, since he did that every day. After a few minutes, he thought... maybe he'd landed upon an idea that could work.

As awkward as it might be for both of them, he'd have to talk to Ingo about this before doing anything. As the perfect pair of twins, they never allowed anyone else to even begin getting close to them. Not only would it throw off their absolutely unbeatable equilibrium, but they were far above anyone else. They had nothing to gain from a friendship with anyone, let alone a romantic relationship. Emmet had to ask Ingo why he'd allowed this girl to continue writing these letters for so long. He had to ask Ingo if he wanted to stop being twins for her, though he already knew the unchangeable answer.

"She won't stop, and I can't make her," Ingo told him about it, when Emmet asked why he wasn't doing anything to prevent her obsessive actions. There were reasons for him not to believe this, of course. He and Ingo were not only excellent battlers, but they were also physically and mentally outliers, quite a ways above average. Whatever they wanted, people typically did. Fear, respect, whatever motivation lay behind their compliance was of little concern to the untouchable Subway Masters of Nimbasa city. The thought that such a stupid and weak person as Helga could possibly deny any of Ingo's wishes was preposterous.

He hesitated before deciding to clear things up with his twin. "Did you even try asking her to stop?" Ingo's head only shook, and Emmet nodded, looking up at the ceiling of the train car that also doubled as their mobile office. "But... you don't want her to hound after you like that, right? That would mean nothing good. For us. We're more important than her."

"Don't suggest that again," Ingo hissed, curling his lip in disgust. "There's nothing in the world that could ever mean anything to me more than you, especially not that girl. I haven't had a chance to really take it up with it. I-..." He gestured hopelessly, rolling his eyes. "I have to leave immediately after beating it, or I think I would slap it."

He glanced over at Emmet, then sighed. "Do you know, is there anything alcoholic in here? I can't talk about that thing anymore." Of course there was alcohol stashed away in any of their offices, Ingo had an unfortunate problem with the substance(it was on and off, at least), and it was safer to have some on hand than not. The blank conductor pulled a bottle from where it was hidden and took a few drinks straight from it before waiting for whatever his twin obviously wanted to say. It was a good thing he had ridiculous tolerance, otherwise their might have been a few losses on the Subway Master's battle transcription that came from his being inebriated.

"I can take care of it," Emmet told his brother, smiling cheerfully and full-heartedly accepting Ingo's refusal to address Helga with a gendered pronoun. "Next time it battles me, I'll talk to it. And if I do slap it, I think that would only serve to prove our dislike." A small laugh escaped him at that. He was always relived when it turned out there was no problem between Ingo and himself, even if there never was. It was like an affirmation that nothing like _that_ had happened again. Everything was alright. Even this would be alright once it passed.

Ingo grinned at him, like he only smiled when Emmet could see him and no one else, and flicked the brim of his twin's hat. "That's cool of you," he said, pretending he knew what "cool" really meant in slang terms. He did not, but it still worked, somewhat. It didn't have to be said that either twin would be entirely lost and broken if, for any reason, they didn't have each other. They even thought, often enough, that if one of them had been born as a single and not both of them as twins, that one would still be incomplete.

Emmet tilted his head and smiled right back, glad that this was all worked out, kind of excited about the prospect of what lay ahead. "Talk to it," he'd told Ingo, but he had a bit more in mind than that. Sometimes, just simple talking didn't appeal t him, so boring. He planned to incorporate physical discipline into the lecture if Helga didn't respond quickly enough. Not that he was as sadist but inflicting pain unto others fascinated him. It was a morbid sort of thing, but... he couldn't help it. It was as unchangeable a part of him as his sideburns.

* * *

><p>The battle that day was over as easily as usual. Beige typically did three challenges a day - Single, Double, Multi. The Multi line was not an appropriate place to beat someone up, not in front of Ingo. Emmet was somewhat scared his twin might be put off dinner if he saw. Emmet had had to wait until her double-line challenge. It had taken longer than usual this time, she'd been defeated four times before actually reaching his car. Emmet was not at all impressed, but he didn't let anything, not his emotions, nor his future intentions show through his smile. It was probably why Helga didn't like him like she did his twin, unless she simply thought frowny people wearing black were more sexy. It sometimes simply seemed as if there weren't as <em>much <em>to Emmet, as if he were kind of hollow behind the expression he had eternally painted on.

As her last Pokemon, a weak-looking Braviary that Emmet could tell on a glance was barely half-trained, fell, the white conductor broadened his smile a bit, as if consoling her. "I am Emmet. I won against you. That's normal. But you've been annoying, you know." There was not a moment when Beige shouldn't have been intimidated by the seven foot tall Subway Masters, especially the smiley one. No normal person smiled that much. If she had, however, suppressed the instinctive fear that usually sprung from looking at them, it came rushing back full force at that moment, making her throat constrict and unpleasant feelings roil in her stomach. "I said you might win one day. That was a lie. There are no more days left."

"H-" And whatever word she'd been about to respond with was cut off abruptly by a backhand across the face, knocking her to the floor. Emmet smirked coldly down at her, sincerity flashing in his soulless silver eyes. White found it suddenly difficult to breathe as he looked down on her, so vulnerable, her Pokemon passed out and unable to defend her. She had never thought about spending time with this man to find out about him, like she'd tried with Ingo. She'd never really been nice to him at all, just neutral. It was something that scared her now. She knew nothing about Emmet, not at all, except that he spoke shortly and smiled like a doll. White could not begin to guess how far this man might go if he had a problem with her.

"You've been hurting Ingo, you know. He'd been sober for half a year now -that's an accomplishment for him- and then you come along... Always bugging, nagging, every day." Emmet had stepped closer, until he stood just above her, looking down with faint interest, as if seeing her for the first time. His arms were folded neatly behind his back. There was a crease between his almost non-existent eyebrows, either angry or arrogant. "And worse. You tried to push between us." Perhaps it had not been her intention, but it would have happened inevitably if Ingo had responded positively to the love notes. It was like a bond between them that would simply dissolve whenever anyone else was introduced in. "You see, I have to stop that from happening."

It had been quite difficult, not only to find something that would serve as a weapon, but also something that he could hide easily. Not that Ingo or any of the Depot Agents would have mentioned it, but the challengers might have gotten a little freaked out. After failing to find anything that would suffice in the kitchen, he'd resorted to searching the attic for a weapon and stumbled upon his old trench knife. Naturally, he'd been delighted. It had served him well back in the war he'd received it, and he trusted it would not fail him in this instance. He'd hidden it in a pocket until beating Beige, and now it was behind his back.

Helga screamed very loudly as it was brought into view. It was annoying to him, and Emmet kicked her in the mouth. How disgraceful. She hadn't even tried to get up. Well, it made things easier for him. He shouldn't be complaining. She cried out again as he knelt over her, as if she hadn't learned her lesson the first time. It seemed distantly that she might be trying to bargain with him or plead, but it should have been obvious that he was too far to turn back now. "You see this knife?" he asked her as his hand covered her mouth, waving the weapon before her eyes to show it off. "My _Nahkampfmesser_. That means close combat knife, isn't that cute? I've killed people with this knife, you know. Don't worry, it's clean now." For he had indeed dusted it off after choosing it out. Emmet did not wear white because it represented purity, more that he liked the clean look of it. Yes, that reminded him he'd have to call the station janitors to the car after this.

Whether Beige did or did not comprehend what he said about his favorite old weapon, Emmet did not know. Not that he particularly cared. He was just stalling, trying to think how best to do this. Of course, the first thing to do, it seemed obvious now, was to shut up her awful screaming. Someone might get suspicious if they heard, and that wouldn't do. He needed to take his time here. Not only was it a delicate task, but anyone who tried to get between Ingo and him deserved only the most calculated pain.

Smiling soothingly at the trainer, he removed his hand from her mouth, pulling her jaw open with a squeeze to its hinge. Squinting slightly and looking into her pretty mouth like a dentist, he traced his knife in the air, as if practicing, before he stabbed the tip of the sharp blade through her tongue. It irritated him when this only inspired her to scream louder, although the sound was a little strange. Of course. Silly him. Noise was produced in the voice box. She wouldn't be able to talk without her tongue, it was true, but she'd still be able to scream. Unfortunately, anatomy wasn't his best subject, he couldn't differentiate between the larynx and any other part of the throat, and he didn't want to kill her yet. Not yet, although there would certainly be time for that.

The men in that war, he had dispatched quickly, mercifully, only when he'd had to. This was different. Emmet read about torture a lot, almost researched it. People might have been a bit disturbed if they knew, even more so if they realized he planned to put these practices to good use in the real world. This instance was a good chance for him to experiment. A knife was a perfectly versatile weapon, so he thought he could do some good damage with it.

"You need to stop yelling," Emmet told the girl, touching the slightly-bloodied tip of the weapon to her sternum and tracing downwards, smiling. His knife went easily through her skin and shirt, leaving a faint trial of blood behind as it oozed through the shallow cuts. "It certainly seems you have a talent for complaining. You should be happy to know that I don't hate you, you know. It's entirely your fault, not an act of hate."

How Emmet thought this would be reliving in any way, it was unclear, rarely was anything in that man's brain straightforwards and understandable to anyone but himself and his twin. That was he way he liked it, too. He didn't like when Helga continued begging him to stop, crying shamefully. This wasn't even the bad part. Now she was praying aloud to the deities of Unova, making his contempt deepen. What a foolish girl. He was amazed she'd amassed the braincells to even _consider_ mooning after Ingo like that. Well, she hadn't had quite enough to figure out when to stop, it seemed.

"I-I'll never even look at the Station again, I swear!" she cried, forgetting his warning in favor of trying to bargain. Tears streamed from her eyes, and she looked up at the man who had control of whether she lived or died as he paused. Emmet seemed to be thinking about it, although for all she knew, he was considering the best way to cook and eat her. Oh Kyurem, that was horrifying to even think of.

Emmet shook his head.

"That's not enough. A promise can't be trusted. I don't even think I can believe that you'd not return even if I stabbed you again before letting you go." His eyes flicked, and he looked down at the knife he held, the faint welling of crimson around it. Did he feel... remorse? Hesitation? No... he couldn't detect a hint of mercy within himself right now. "You've reached the terminal called The End," he told her, smile appearing even happier than before. "I'm afraid the train stops soon."

* * *

><p>Ingo had been worried after Emmet was ten minutes late getting out of work, especially as he was prone to ditching a little early sometimes. After half an hour, he had to go and investigate. For all he knew, Emmet had fallen into the tracks, gotten run over by a train, and was now waiting to revive again. Coming back from the more dramatic forms of physical death often did take a while.<p>

But no, his twin was still in the seventh car of the train. Ingo could tell when he got there because the blinds on the window were down. That was only the case when one of the Subway Masters was in a car alone. They didn't like people to see them much, even just in passing, although they were obligated to display their battles by having the windows clear. Ingo had to wonder what was holding him up like this.

His answer was inside the car, after he unlocked it(also odd, that it was locked) and went in. Emmet was on the floor, hunched over painfully, his eyes closed and previously pure white clothes suspiciously red. The car itself looked like a scene in a bad horror movie, but the stains of blood here were not fake, nor had they been poured by set-builders.

The thing in front of his twin was almost unrecognizable. A fairly pretty girl in life, White looked almost grotesque in her death, although it did not seem to be her fault. She was painted with her own blood, her clothes soaked through. She looked... _wrong_ in places, broken, dislocated, as if Emmet had taken a hammer to her. Ingo knew full well how capable his twin was of breaking bones with his bare hands. There was skin and muscle missing in places on her body. If one could look without throwing up, they'd find the absent parts on the floor around her body.

The black conductor was not thrilled by this development. He was at least a tiny bit more sane than Emmet was, although it was obvious neither of them was quite right. "Emmet," he stated, as if his brother weren't aware of the fact. "You killed someone."

The younger twin raised his head to look up at Ingo. There were traces of blood around his moth, and Ingo did not care to find out why. "You promised years ago that you were going to stop," Ingo continued, striding over to his twin, ignoring the splashes of bodily fluids that his shoes raised with every step. "I thought you might be able to keep that promise for at least another lifetime."

Emmet lowered his gaze. He did not care that he'd just brutally murdered a teenage girl. He was simply ashamed that he'd gone back on the promise he'd made his brother. Of course, he'd already shared his philosophy on promises, but this was s different case. The trust between him and his brother was far greater than anything he held towards the girl, besides obvious disgust. There were just times that promises had to be broken, it seemed. "You said you'd give up drinking, you know. Apparently, both of our breaks were caused by the same problem." He jerked his head sharply, indicating White's mutilated body with a cast of his eyes. "I got rid of the problem. What are you going to do, turn me in?"

Of course, they both knew that wasn't going to happen. Ingo and Emmet did not betray each other. The older twin also knew that, at least in this instance, Emmet had done it for him. Emmet did everything for him. Ingo could only think Emmet was guilty for being the one to survive longer in their first lives, even if it hadn't been his fault.

"No. I'm not going to do that. I'm going to make you scrub the blood out of your clothes." Ingo took his eyes away from the corpse to throw his coat at Emmet. "Cover up with that until we're out of anyone's sight. People might not understand the bloodstains. And for Giratina's sake, wipe your mouth."

The black and white twins made it out of sight without being found out. Ingo was frowning silently as always. The double-line would not be running tomorrow. He was going to have Chandelure cremate the girl's body, and then the seventh car was going to need a long cleaning before it was suitable to be used again. But really, even if he could change this aspect of his twin, he wouldn't. It was part of what balanced them as a pair. His only thought on the matter besides how much Emmet must care if he was willing to go that far to keep them together was that their parents had aptly named them, one going upwards, the other destined to go down.


End file.
